Richard gave Claire a furious look. Apparently Claire had a habit of leaving doors unlocked.
“Fine,” Deacon resolved, “go ahead and call the cops, but we’re leaving anyway.” He motioned for the girls to start making their way toward the door. Young Sunnie was the first to scamper into the foyer. Clover and Gypsy took their time to saunter past the home owners, their heads held high. Maggie remained where she was, her hand gripping Jeff’s. Avis, still by the giant window, happened to be the farthest from the hall. She was left to bring up the rear. But it seemed that when she reached Richard, he realized he was letting all of his suspects go. With the phone clutched in one hand, he grabbed Avis as she passed, jerked her away from the boys, and looped the phone wire around her neck in a quick, fluid motion.
She cried out in surprise, struggling as Deacon and Kenzie lurched toward him.
“Don’t!” Richard warned. “I’ll choke her, you shitheads. It’s my right! You’re trespassing and I’m protecting my wife and my property. I’m a lawyer. I know what’s what!”
Deacon lifted an arm to keep Kenzie at bay.
“Leave her alone!” Noah yelled. “She’s pregnant!”
“Good,” Richard countered. “All the more reason for you assholes to not do something stupid. Now, all of you, sit the hell down.” He waved the phone receiver at the only couch that had been spared of Noah and Kenzie’s stacking game. Deacon gave Richard a defiant glare. When Noah and Kenzie looked to Jeffrey for guidance, Jeff—still standing in the kitchen, still holding Maggie’s hand—nodded.
Do what he says.
Deacon’s fingers curled into fists, but he followed his two brothers across the room.
“Oh, so you’re the brains of the operation?” Richard asked, peering at Jeff. “You too, pal. Move it!”
“Sure,” Jeff said, lifting his shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug. “Not the first time I’ve been arrested, man. It’s cool. Just let me take her with me.” He pushed Maggie toward the hall where the other girls waited. She gave him a hurt look of rejection, but Jeff had far more pressing matters to attend to. He stepped around the kitchen counter and steadily approached Avis, Maggie all but forgotten behind him. The cord was tight around Avis’s neck. She could smell onions on Richard’s breath. Onions and the mellow smoothness of an after-dinner Scotch.
“She’s fine where she is, pal,” Richard said, tightening the cord the closer Jeffrey came. But Jeff refused to back off. Out of the corner of Avis’s eye, she saw him draw out a knife. It was huge, the biggest one he’d managed to pull from the knife block on the kitchen counter.
Avis’s eyes went wide.
Claire bleated a little scream.
Richard tensed.
“Hey, all right, all right!” Richard unlooped the cord from around Avis’s neck, as though backing off would cause Jeff to forget the whole thing. “Just calm the hell down! You want it to play out that way, then just go.” He’d suddenly changed his mind about the cops. “Get the hell out of here. Leave us alone.”
“Well, you see, we already gave you that option, Dick,” Jeff said. “And then you had to threaten my unborn child, all in the name of a precious couch.”
When Richard realized Jeff wasn’t backing off, he grabbed Avis by the arms and shoved her forward, hopeful that the sudden move would throw Jeffrey off. Or, perhaps, that she’d impale herself on Claire’s biggest kitchen knife. In the throes of such tragedy, he and his wife would be able to make a break for it.
But Jeff simply sidestepped Avis as she tumbled to the floor with a muffled cry. He caught Richard by the forearm and sank the blade into his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.
Claire’s scream was at full volume as Avis scrambled away from the arterial spray like a cat spooked by a loud and sudden noise. Richard collapsed onto the floor as Avis scurried toward the hall, gasping, unable to believe her eyes.
“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” Jeffrey spoke calmly, ignoring Claire’s wailing. “Some have been led astray from the faith in their greed.” His attention shifted to Claire. “And have pierced themselves through . . .” He jerked the knife out of Richard’s throat. A lake of blood bloomed at his feet.
Claire fell to her knees, groping at her husband’s neck, trying to put the blood that was pouring from his wound back into his body. Richard’s mouth opened and closed as he gasped for air, each attempt only drawing more blood down his throat. Within seconds, his gasps turned into wet gurgling. Claire’s screams grew worse—bad enough to have Jeff shooting his brothers and sisters a look. If she kept howling the way she was, someone was liable to hear her.
“Shut her up,” he told them. The girls were the first to fall upon her. Sunnie and Lily tore at her hair. Clover held her arms. Gypsy shoved a wadded-up dishrag into Claire’s mouth. They dragged her away from Richard’s body, his blood streaking across the carpet in wide, impressionistic arcs.
And then Jeffrey turned to Avis and held out the knife.
“Your turn,” he said.
Avis stared disbelieving at the blade. Richard’s blood dripped from its razored edge. She shook her head, not understanding, refusing to understand. There was no way. Jeff couldn’t be asking her to do this. But before she could convince herself that she was seeing things, that she was making the whole scenario up in her head—nothing but a side effect of skipping her meds—Jeffrey grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet, forcing the knife into her hand.